When It Rains, It Pours
by Call-Me-Crazy.Cuz I Am
Summary: A Crown Prince. A Duke. A School Teacher. And a Rebel. This is about to get complicated.
1. Chapter 1

**A**t precisely three-fifteen in the morning on April twenty-seventh, 1985, His Royal Highness Crown Prince Richard John was born, with a head of dark curls, wide-open blue eyes, and a yowl to raise the dead.

Within fifteen minutes, his birth was announced and proclaimed up and down the streets, with the general public in a frenzy unlike any other.

The young prince made his first public appearance three days later, amidst flashing cameras and sweaty, excited citizens. Even then, mere days old, the prince was quite the social butterfly, blinking quite enthusiastically. His mother and father, Lord John and Princess Maryanne, were quite enthralled with their young son, and it seemed that the royal family was primed for happiness for years to come.

* * *

**O**n the flipside, exactly two years and three days later, when the young prince and his cousin were wreaking havoc on both the palace and their parents' sleep habits, signora Katarina Olivieae Reneè Isabella Chiaro came into this world in Venice, Italy, to a French mother, an Italian father, and scandal abounding. Her father, a prominent Italian business man, made a habit of sneaking in foreign women to entertain, and this series of affairs lead to a collection of bastard children, the most famous of which's mother was none other than Katarina's aunt. The product of this affair was a finicky, fussy baby girl called Angélique Mauvais, who was born a few months before Katarina, a cover-up to last the ages, and the final decline of Katarina's parent's marriage.

Katarina, despite the circumstances surrounding her birth, was a happy and healthy child, with a shock of red hair and piercing green eyes. She was raised by her mother and her paternal grandmother in south France, coming into little contact with anyone besides her mother and grandmother, her older sister, Louise, and the villagers. She came to be affectionately called Kori, due to the fact that her true name was a mouthful, and her initials were easier to say, and by the time she was three it was all she'd respond to.

* * *

**T**hree months, eleven days, and thirty-eight minutes before the Crown Prince's birth, his cousin, Duke Wallace Rudolph Weston the Third of Pemberton was born to the Princess Maryanne's brother, Prince Bartholomew, and his wife, Lady Iris. He was a happy, cheerful baby; he hardly ever cried, hardly ever spit up or threw his toys, and he had an immediate connection with his parents and his younger cousin the Crown Prince.

He grew up in a small cottage in East Yorkshire, near enough to the palace to see his cousin but far enough away that he and his siblings had a certain degree of privacy.

When he was sixteen, puberty stuck, and he went from a long-legged, skin-kneed, freckle-faced boy to a red-haired Romeo with a deep voice and tan skin. His parents, in an effort to reduce any teenage drama –the Duke was a sweet boy, but he was carefree and reckless, and it wouldn't take much for him to make a serious mistake- arranged an engagement to Linda Park, an heiress and the daughter of some of his mother's school chums.

He was seventeen, and suddenly, his dreams of hot escapades with beautiful women, of whirlwind romance and beautiful life, they were all dashed before his eyes, and his opinions weren't even asked.

Prince Bart and Lady Iris were not terrible parents, and after all, it wasn't the 1800s; they offered him time to get to know Linda, time to make his mind up, but the decision was final, and it changed the way he looked at his parents and his entire lifestyle.

He was seventeen, disillusioned, unhappy, and his parents simply refused to understand.

* * *

**A**ngélique Mauvais was even less lucky.

When the scandal surrounding her parentage was finally revealed, her mother took her and fled to what seemed like a far off land: Los Angeles, California. There, the child lived a hand-to-mouth existence, terribly far from that of her father or half-sisters. She learned hardness, learned to depend on no one but herself, and when her mother overdosed three weeks shy of her seventeenth birthday, she learned what it is to truly be alone.

She and her mother had never been supremely close, but a mother is a mother, and Angélique Mauvais owed her mother one thing in particular: her mother had introduced her to music and had scrimped to pay for CDs and vinyl records and piano books. But still, moments of care from her mother and the occasional good moment didn't change the ultimate truth: she lived a much harder life than anyone else in her family, and she never forgot it.

She was done with that life, though; done with feeling like she wasn't good enough for her father or her family in Italy or her half siblings in France. She refused to allow herself to care about things like that.

By the time she was eighteen, she'd given up on being Angélique Mauvais, the tragic little French-Italian girl, and she'd become Jinx, the hardcore Los Angeles beauty with a suitcase full of CDs and a need for revenge.

* * *

**S**o, at this point, it's possible you're asking yourself what exactly these four people have to do with one another.

Well, in order to get to that, a bit of explanation is in order.

* * *

**W**hen Crown Prince Richard was exactly eleven and a half, both of his parents were killed in a hit-and-run car accident. He was quickly adopted by his aunt and uncle, Prince Bruce and Duchess Selina, and was eagerly loved by all three of his uncles and each of their wives. He was close friends with his cousin, the Duke of Pemberton, Wallace or Wally, as he was called, and his mother's friend's son, a pleasant young boy by the name of Garfield Marcus Logann.

Still, as time passed, the Crown Prince grew inwardly cold and angry, resentful of his position and his life, though outwardly he maintained a care-free persona. His parent's death had stuck him hard and left him fiercely protective of his family and fiercely distrustful of anyone else.

By the time he was sixteen, his adoptive parents had two young children of their own, seven-month-old twins, Damian and Alexei, and his adoptive father, the second-oldest prince, had been placed as regent in the wake of his father's death.

At eighteen, the Crown Prince was resentful, moody, angry, arrogant, and tactless about showing his displeasure, and his adoptive parents had a daughter called Kathryn-Ann.

At twenty-four, the Crown Prince was brooding, intense, fiercely protective, and devastatingly handsome, with thick black curls that hung in his violently blue eyes. His adoptive parents had another son, Nicolai. He'd gotten infinitely better at hiding his inner thoughts, and for all the world, he was exactly what a Crown Prince ought to be.

**Until** he got the news that Damian and Alexei, his dear little brothers, were to be sent to a public kindergarten.

* * *

**K**atarina Oliveae Reneè Isabella Chiaro, -or Kori, as she was more often called- left her small south France village at the age of eighteen and only looked back once, to wave good-bye to her sweet seven-year-old half brother, Ryann, and his friends Luca and André. She was headed for Oxford, from which she graduated at the age of twenty-two with a Masters in Education.

She met, while rushing to her finals, a depressing girl called Raven Roth, whom she bought a small flat with, and once she had her degree, she obtained a job teaching young children at St. Anthony's Learning Academy, a public school down her street.

She loved her job, she loved the children she taught, she loved her depressing flatmate, and she loved her life.

**Until** an arrogant, rude Crown Prince waltzed into her classroom.

* * *

**A**s for Wallace Rudolph Weston, Duke of Pemberton, well, he was the Crown Prince's council and conscience. He alone was able to see beyond the façade to the man inside, and he alone was able to communicate with that man.

Duke Wally was an amiable, humor-driven man, no different than any other twenty-four year old man, only, he was seventh in line for the throne and betrothed to a singularly unpleasant woman who he absolutely refused to be near. His obvious blatant dislike was irregular, to say the least, and, unfortunately, prompted Linda to try and win him over.

Because of this, he lord spent most of his time in hiding from Lady Park, and it seemed to him, what better place to hide from a woman who hates music than a music shop?

So, Duke Wallace Rudolph Weston the Third of Pemberton spent most of his days hiding out at _Les Notes Malchanceux_, a music shop recently opened by an American, and wishing fervently for a new love life.

And for the most part, that was okay with him.

**Until** he met the owner of _Les Notes Malchanceux. _

* * *

**J**inx was actually somewhat happy with her life in Los Angeles. It didn't mean she never thought about the half-siblings she'd only heard about, the stories of the rolling green land in Italy and the dreams of café's in France; it simply meant she'd just stopped caring, stopped letting it take hold of her.

But, no matter how many times she re-dyed her hair –it needed to be re-done once every two months or the bubble-gum pink would wash out- or how many tattoos she covered her back with, it didn't change the fact that her mother was dead and the only family she had left lay across the ocean.

So she packed her bags and booked a flight to Italy.

What she found out was this: her father was in China at the moment, sealing a business deal, but in two month's time, he'd be in London to check in on his daughter and an investment deal.

She owed the man nothing; he'd given her up, he'd never tried to check in on her or to come see her; he couldn't even bring himself to send a child support check, for godsakes.

But still, he was her father. And who knew? Maybe she'd run into other spoiled, arrogant Chiaros she could torment.

So, at twenty-two, after a lifetime of the streets, Jinx Chiaro bought a small shop with a flat over it and sold CDs and vinyl records.

And that worked for her.

**Until** she spilled coffee all over a very handsome red-head.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N. Hello, dere. **

**I'm sorry about the lateness, but hey~ by now you know that pitchforks and things distract me, so...smile? be happy? Watch _The Big Bang Theory? _**

* * *

Crown Prince Richard John stalks into the breakfast room, slams the newspaper down on the table and angrily spits out, "You have _got_ to be kidding me!"

"Why, hello, dear," Selina says dryly, buttering up a piece of toast and sliding it across the table to Kathryn-Ann. "Do tell us what you're feeling."

"I'm_ feeling _like I can't believe this! You're not seriously _considering_ sending Damian and Alexei to some…_commoner school_!"

"Actually, we've decided to do it," Bruce says, awkwardly bouncing Nicolai on his knee as he eats. "And whatever's the matter with a _commoner school_ as you so eloquently put it? Your mother went to one in Spain,"

"Your mother _graduated_ from one in Spain," Selina corrects. "You forget, darling, I'm not royal or English like the rest of you silver-spooners."

It _is_ easy to forget that Selina was a perfectly normal English-Spanish citizen –albeit one who worked for MI6- until she met Bruce, because she makes it look like she's lived royal her entire life, but Richard is still adamant. "And look where it got you! Married at eighteen! Forced to _stay_ married to the old man even when he leaves his socks everywhere! Procreating like rabbits, stuck with _me_ for godsakes!"

"I'm also the acting Queen, kid," Selina raises one eyebrow. "And I chose to get married that young."

"And I'm only forty-five," Bruce says. "And your mother's only thirty-eight."

"That's not the point! Honestly, Bruce, the point is Damien and Alexei are far too young to be exposed to public school, far too young to be in the public eye! Bloody hell, they're only six!"

"Aw, Bruce," Selina says, delighted. "Oh, I think our son is jealous he won't get to see his brothers as much!"

"Oh, ʾLina, I think you're right! He's missing them already, the old softie," Bruce rubs Nicolai's back. "Don't worry, Bubby, you'll still be a big brother, you've got Nicolai and Katie."

"Don't call me Bubby! And I am _not_ jealous!"

"Yes, you are, darling," Selina brushes Katie's chin with a napkin. "If it makes you feel better, you can go meet the teacher today. You could take the boys with you; they've got to go and get their school lists anyway."

"I will!" Richard huffs. "And she'll probably be some seventy-year-old woman who hates children and just wants to kidnap the boys and I'll laugh when you have to call up your MI6 friends and tell them you lost the Princes."

"Your mother and I _reinvented_ MI6! We _were_ MI6!" Bruce calls after him as he stalks out.

* * *

**K**atarina Oliviae Reneè Isabella Chiaro is understandably nervous.

She starts teaching for the very first time in a week, and this afternoon she's going to meet the kids in her very first teaching class, and, apparently, two of those kids are going to be from the bloody _royal family_, _the fourth and fifth in line for the bloody throne, so yes, she is nervous._

And one of her dearest friends is being absolutely _no _help.

"Honestly, Roy," She says exasperatedly. "One would think you're purposefully trying to discourage me!"

"I _am_ purposefully trying to discourage you!" Roy leans back on the table languidly, laying down and crossing his eyes at Kori. "They'll probably come with the bloody MI6 for playmates!"

"Or they'll just be regular children! Honestly, Roy, just because they're royal doesn't mean they're not just like anyone else!"

"That's exactly what it means and you know it, love," Roy says, blowing strands of red hair out of his eyes.

"Roy! Get _off_ the table, what are you, some kind of bum? There'll be kids coming in here any second, you arse, and I refuse to have those children poisoned by your unhelpful-"

"Language, miss," A crisp, clean voice says from behind her. "You are a kindergarten teacher, after all."

"Oh, um, yes!" Kori blushes, glares at the smirking boy on her table, and turns around. "I'm so sorry, I was just-"

"Being stupid." The man says, and as he speaks, Kori takes in his appearance. Black jumper over a white collared shirt. Messy black hair, curling at the nape of his neck. Piercing blue eyes, lit with annoyance.

"I beg your pardon," She says, clearing her throat and trying not to focus on his obvious good looks. "But wanting everyone to be on their best behavior is _not_ stupid."

"Yes, well, your boyfriend shouldn't have even _been_ in here," The man says snidely. "Students could walk in at any moment. I could've walked in five minutes earlier and god knows what I would've seen-"

"Excuse me!" Kori says, horrified and indignant. "He is not my boyfriend, and I have been doing nothing but preparing all morning!"

"Well, he wants to be, I can tell you that, and honestly, I'm sure you're quite a nice girl, but you can't be more than twenty years old, and to be frank, you can't be all that smart. You're obviously unqualified to teach royals, so maybe it would be best if you simply bowed out and let a more experienced, preferably male teacher take over."

"I-Roy is bloody gay! He's not even into girls in general, much less _me_! And I'm twenty-two, and I'm sorry if I didn't go to the finest college and suck on a bleeding silver spoon like you, but I assure you I am _very_ qualified, and I didn't ask to be your blooming brother's teacher! However, I graduated valedictorian, did _quite_ well at Oxford, and what the hell do you mean, a _male _teacher? Do you have a _problem_ with women?" Kori says furiously, fighting the urge to stamp her foot like a child.

"No, I don't have an issue with women, as long as I'm somewhat drunk and they're lying beneath me," He smirks at Kori's disgusted face.

_Damn him._ Kori thinks angrily. _Damn him and his stupid smirk and his sexist ways and his stupid, stupid, __**stupid**__ blue eyes._ "You-you-"

"Oh, very articulate, darling. Now, perhaps you could work on using complete sentences with subjects _and_ predicates now?"

"I-look, you git, I am going to be teaching those children regardless of whatever you think of me, you need to get over this little fit you're having now. It won't get us anywhere and I honestly don't have the time or will for this."

The man raises his eyebrows, and a slow, dazzling smile creeps over his face.

Kori groans inwardly. Of course, of course he has a good smile. As if he wasn't terrible enough already.

He still looks arrogantly unconvinced, but he nods. "I suppose. The boys'll be here in a second, they're meeting the other children-"

"Really? Alone?"

"Flanked by six MI6 operatives, and another four undercover." The man laughs. "What sort of Crown Prince do you think I am?"

"The_ arrogant_ kind. And if you're going to come bursting into my classroom, insulting my teaching skills, my intelligence, _and_ my gender, you should really lead with the Crown Prince bit."

"I should, shouldn't I?" He gives a laugh. "Crown Prince Richard John, at your service." He extends his hand to shake.

"signora Katarina Chiaro." Kori hesitated. "Also at your service."

* * *

"**N**o, Linda, I'm fine," Wallace Rudolph Weston, Duke of Pemberton, speaks into his phone patiently, looking around _Les Notes Malchanceux _warily. "Yes, I'm sure it wouldn't be an issue, but I'm quite fine walking back-yes, I'm sure you're quite close, but it's not necessary, I'm very happy where I am-bloody hell, woman, d'you think I'm incompetent? You don't have to hold my hand and walk me home, I'm quite capable of-yes, yes, fine. I'll see you then." Hanging up the phone, he sighed loudly and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

"Rough day, mate?" Seymour calls from the register as he stacks CDs.

"The roughest," Wally calls back, and groans. "Tell me why she has to be so blooming clingy all the time!"

"Because she's afraid of losing you," is the reply, and Wally can practically hear the eye roll.

"Can't lose what you never had," Wally says ruefully.

"Who never had what?" A voice with an American accent calls from the stairs. "Seymour, are you boring the customers with your woes?"

"No, love, I'm boring them with yours," Seymour calls back. "When was the last time Benedict called?"

"Last night while I was watching Sherlock," comes the reply. "Mr. Cumberbatch always knows when to get me."

"Sorry about that one," Seymour says to Wally, "But she's obsessed with Benedict Cumberbatch. Thinks his face is 'sexy and symmetrical' or something. It's lucky, though, because if she wasn't I don't know that I'd be quite sure she was human."

"Funny," Wally says, and stretches his arms above his head lazily. "I've never even met her and I'm already sure she isn't."

It was true that Wally has never met her, _her_ being the owner of _Les Notes Malchanceux_. He'd only heard her voice, because she apparently refuses to manage her own store. She'd hired Seymour to do that, and he's the only one who ever saw her at work.

"Yes, you've met me," she says, and he heasd footsteps on the stairs. "We only talk every day, you idiot."

"No, I haven't," He replies. "I've never _seen_ you, you ignoramus."

"Oh, big word," she calls back, and the voice seems closer this time. "Did you look that one up on your IPhone?"

"Nope. I had Mummy do it for me. And-be still my beating heart! Are you gracing me with your presence?"

"You're not lucky enough for that, daddy-o," She replies, a begrudging laugh in her voice.

"Right." Wally turns to Seymour. "I think the coast is clear, mate. I should probably head back before my mum locks me out."

"You still live with your mother?" she snorts. "Pathetic."

"I'm sorry, I'm only taking commentary from ace people at the moment," Wally calls behind his shoulder as he walks to the door. "But you can file your complaint with all the other losers in a moment!"

The doorbell jingles as he leaves, and he whistles slightly as he walks down the street. He considers this day a shining success; he's managed to avoid Linda all day, his cousin hasn't done anything supremely tabloid-stupid, and-

He's forgotten his phone in the shop.

He turns around and retraces his steps, and he's halfway back to the shop when a smallish woman bumps into him and spills a mug of coffee all over his jumper.

"Bloody-" He lets loose a string of curses, trying in vain to keep the soaked fabric from his skin. "Oh, bollocks."

"Aw, geez, I'm sorry," The woman dabs at his shirt a little, but it's futile. "That was totally my fault."

"It's okay, I'll just- geez, how hot do you like your coffee? This burns," Wally complains, and the woman takes off her scarf and dabs a little more.

"Don't be a dweeb, you should've watched where you were going," she says irritably. "And I like my coffee hot enough to poor on jerks and pedophiles."

"Unfortunately I don't fall into either category, so you really have no excuse," Wally ruefully pinches the growing brown stain. "See, now I'm going to have to take my shirt off, and all the women all around here are going to start swooning and fainting and it'll get messy-"

"Spare me." She snorts. "That looks bad, man. You should handle that."

"Don't worry about it; I have an extra sweater somewhere." Wally rummages through his messenger bag and pulls out a navy blue t-shirt, smirking at the woman's raised eyebrow. "Oh, don't judge, you pink-haired- wait a minute, I recognize your voice."

"Do you? Very perceptive. Why do you even have a shirt in your messenger bag? Do you often need to change?"

" Yes, I do. You run the music shop. We talk almost every day. My cousin has a tendency to puke on me when he's drunk. And he's drunk most of the time."

"Oh, you're the phone guy. The ginger- Wally, right? And who is this cousin? I've probably met him, and more than likely I've slept with him." She stops dabbing at Wally's shirt and rewinds her scarf around her neck.

Generally, this is the part of the conversation when Wally inwardly sighs and says, _my cousin is the Crown Prince_. This is the part where the normal conversation, with the normal girl (albeit the fact that she's generally pretty), turns into a swooning flattery fest.

And he likes this girl. Likes her more than he would think possible, given the fact that this is the first time he's ever seen her and has ever had a full, functioning conversation with her.

So, he grins at her, and he says, "Right. He's a pub crawler. Spends most of his time with a bottle."

She smiles back at him, and he ignores the tiny twinge of guilt. It's just a little…truth omitting. Richard is a pub crawler; he's just a royal one.

After all, little lies don't come out unless you're sloppy.

And twenty-four years of cleaning up after his cousin have made him anything but.

* * *

**A.N. so. reviews. they're beautiful things, really. You should go ahead a leave one of those.**


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